


You Were Smiling Then

by Defcon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Flashpoint - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Secret Identity, Thanksgiving, alcoholism (referenced), musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defcon/pseuds/Defcon
Summary: Barry's floundering in the new timeline he created. When he decides to see a show at a Central jazz club he spots a familiar face behind the drum kit and realizes that something from his old life might be just what he needs to settle into his new one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The thing about Flashpoint is that, except for Joe's alcoholism and Barry's inability to stay out of Flash business, things are pretty good! So here's a fic that attempts to work out those issues.
> 
> If you're looking for a version of "Where or When" to listen to at the relevant part of the story, this [Ella Fitzgerald version](https://goo.gl/CccCjs) is a close arrangement to what I imagine the quartet is playing. For male vocals that go along with Len here's a nice recording of [Harry Connick Jr.](https://goo.gl/u3CfKS).

“You’re back! You know each time you come in without some gal on your arm you get my hopes up.”

Barry smiled bashfully at the hostess and said, “If I was in a relationship I wouldn’t need to come to a blues club, right?”

The middle-aged woman laughed and turned to lead him through the heavy velvet curtain that separated the host stand and coat check from the main bar and club.

“Looks like your usual table is taken,” she whispered, leading him down to a free table closer to the stage than he typically sat. The band was already playing, drawing the attention of most of the tables in the room. A few couples were chatting quietly with their heads close together, and waiters and waitresses were moving between the tables and the bar, so Barry didn’t feel awkward the way he otherwise might have coming in while someone was on stage. But then he never felt awkward at Blue Rondo.

He’d first stumbled into the bar a week after returning from saving his mom. He was home again, but it was a home entirely different from what he remembered. At first he had been willing to take it at face value; it was everything he’d always wanted. After a few days of bumbling around in the life this timeline’s Barry Allen had apparently lived, he couldn’t escape the constant buzzing in the back of his head -- the shadows in the periphery -- the frisson of _wrongness_ in everything he did. 

When those feelings had finally become too much to bear he’d dashed out of his parents’ house and found himself in a part of town he never used to frequent below one of the big suspension bridges that lead to Keystone. He’d hoped that it wouldn’t feel too strange there since he had nothing to compare it to. After walking around for a while he’d entered Blue Rondo because it was raining and because it looked like a bar that might serve him a drink even though he’d left his wallet (and ID) at home.

This was Barry’s fifth Friday in a row at the club; it was dim, and warm, with a solid old bar and bartenders who wore vests with bowties and sleeve garters. The clientele was mostly older couples, folks who lived in the neighborhood, and members of the Twin Cities’ jazz and blues scene who turned out to support each other on the nights that their acts weren’t booked. Blue Rondo was comfortable, and one of the few new things in Barry’s life that had started to feel familiar. Barry had a passing knowledge of the music thanks to growing up with Joe, but he wasn’t a fanatic -- it was more the atmosphere that kept him coming back. Well, that and the band currently on stage.

The Jack Martin Quartet played two sets on Friday nights -- one right at 10, and one almost at midnight. The band leader, who went by Marty, was a black man in his late sixties who played piano. He tapped his feet and crooned or called out his approval when one of his bandmates played a riff he particularly liked, and he bantered with the audience like he’d been on stage his whole life.

Marty’s cousin Clara played the saxophone, except for one week when she’d played the clarinet, and she was the only person in the quartet who Marty never teased. Barry wasn’t sure if she was actually Marty’s cousin, but that’s how he always referred to her.

The tall, somber man on upright bass presumably had a name, but the other band members called him 'Knuckles.' Considering Joe’s semi-secret longing for a second life as a lounge singer, Barry suspected that the bassman was just a normal guy who didn’t want the squares from his 9-to-5 showing up and embarrassing him in front of his band and friends. 

The quartet’s drummer always wore thick-rimmed black glasses and a wry, but good-natured smile. He was the youngest member of the group, and was constantly being ribbed by the others for invented faults like coming in too soon, soloing for too long, or switching between a traditional and a matched grip. Marty, especially, teased him the way an older brother would. 

“I ever tell you the story of how Lenny and I met?” Marty asked the crowd as the song drew to a close.

“Aw, geez,” Leonard Snart said, resting his drumsticks on his thigh so that he could slide his glasses down and rub at the bridge of his nose. The crowd tittered; they loved the teasing between the quartet members, which was probably why Marty played it up so much. 

“Marty these people came here to listen to jazz, not to hear the boring story of how two old men met,” Leonard continued, grinning. He loved to remind the pianist of how much older he was. 

“Old men! I was a spry young jazzman when this fourteen-year-old punk stole my trumpet while I was waiting for the bus!” Marty’s shout caused a burst of feedback from the speakers, and he reared back from the mic and laughed along with the audience as he made a show of pushing it further away.

Barry laughed, too, partially in amazement -- it figured that Leonard had met Marty that young for the older man to have altered his timeline so significantly. After Barry’s first time stumbling into Blue Rondo and his amazed realization that he recognized the man sitting at the drum kit, Barry had looked up Leonard Snart in the CCPD’s database. He had an obscene number of unpaid parking tickets, and his juvenile records were sealed, but other than that Leonard appeared to be completely off of the police’s radar. 

“Marty leave the kid alone,” Clara said, “You got your horn back didn’t you?” ( _'Clara,'_ Leonard sighed in the background). “Oh wait, that’s right,” she made a moue like she was just remembering something, then smirked, deadly. “Lenny broke it.”

The audience laughed again, and from his closer-than-usual position Barry could see that Leonard’s cheeks had some color in them. Combined with the glasses and the more open mien of this timeline’s Leonard Snart, it was pretty charming. Cute, even.

“I didn’t break it, I lost a valve that was already loose,” Leonard muttered. “And I agreed to pay Marty for the replacement piece.”

“That’s right!” Marty crowed, starting up a jangling new tune on his piano.

“Hey, Mart,” Leonard called, a naive tone to his voice, “How many more gigs you think before I’ve paid it all off?” His roll into the song partially drowned out the crowd’s chuckles, and Barry settled back into his chair to enjoy the music (and the sight of a relaxed and happy Leonard Snart doing something he was good at other than crime). 

The quartet alternated between familiar compositions and more esoteric pieces filled with solo or duo jams that Barry suspected Marty may have written himself. They had the same combination of virtuosity and playfulness as the older man. Barry enjoyed watching and listening to them play, but selfishly he was hoping for something he’d only gotten to see one other time.

Luckily the opportunity arose in the second set, when Marty solicited the crowd for requests. It was mostly an excuse to gently mock them for their taste or their timidity. Eventually a youngish man (after consulting with his date) shouted out something about a Sinatra song, which Marty responded to by flapping his hands dismissively and saying, “You want a standard? This isn’t Glenn Miller -- there’s only four of us!”

The couple laughed self-consciously, and tried to apologize, but Marty just shook his head. “No, no, the people are gonna get what the people want. But not from me, I never had a voice fit to sing with.”

“News to me,” Clara teased.

Marty rolled his eyes and said, “But I think I know someone who’s been working out a little something we could back him up on.” He turned to indicate Leonard, and Barry perked up in his seat; on stage Leonard and Marty stood and switched places. Marty sat behind the drum kit, and Len dragged the microphone away from the piano and fiddled with it to raise it up to standing height.

“Uh, hi,” Len smiled shyly and squinted in the brighter lights at the front of the stage, “Wow there are a lot of you, usually I can’t see around Laurel and Hardy up here. This wasn’t originally Sinatra, but I guess back then everybody recorded versions of all the hits, so maybe at some point--”

“Get on with it!” Marty called, tapping his foot to make the hi-hat chick three or four times. Leonard scoffed.

“You even know how to play those drums?”

“Taught you, didn’t I?” Marty called back, then hit the sticks together to count them into the song. As the band began to play Leonard’s eyes slipped closed, and the nerves seemed to leave him. 

_“It seems we’ve stood and talked like this before._  
_We looked at each other in the same way then,_  
_But I can’t remember where or when.”_

The space between Barry’s ribcage felt like it was expanding, filling with strange butterflies. It was a sensation he associated with moments too full of excitement and expectation, like when he attempted to leap over the gorge, or when he’d kissed Iris before running back in time. He wondered if in the previous timeline Snart had ever sung this way. Barry couldn’t imagine Captain Cold getting up in front of people to perform. He had probably been one of those weirdos who didn’t even sing in the shower.

Barry was so distracted by the rich timbre of the older man’s voice (not to mention the thoughts of him in the shower), that he wasn’t even paying attention to the lyrics. At least until Leonard’s eyes opened and met Barry’s. It was a shock to the system, but at first Barry chalked the look up to pure coincidence. The spotlights on the stage were so bright Leonard probably couldn’t tell Barry from Adam. Yet as Leonard moved into the next verse his gaze didn’t shift. 

_“Some things that happen for the first time,_  
_Seem to be happening again.”_

 _'Oh god, he remembers,'_ Barry thought, panicked. Everything in him was telling him to run, but it wasn’t like earlier in the evening when people were shifting around and waiters were circulating. Now the staff was all lounging against the bar, and the patrons were watching the stage, rapt. Even with the panic crawling up his throat, Barry couldn’t bring himself to just get up and leave. All he could do was stare back at Leonard Snart, who despite outward appearances seemed to have some memory of his previous life. Barry couldn’t tell if it was the stage lights or just the growing intensity between them, but Leonard’s blue eyes burned.

_“And so it seems that we have met before,_  
_And laughed before,_  
_And loved before,_  
_But who knows where or when.”_

As the last notes dwindled Leonard’s look changed, the intensity draining and leaving behind a kind of desperation. Barry thought for one wild moment that he was going to step off the stage and come down into the audience, but the crowd lit up with applause that seemed to startle Leonard out of whatever daze he’d been in. He laughed to himself, shaking his head and smiling his thanks at the audience.

Barry couldn’t push his chair back fast enough. He wound his way through the tables and made his way toward the entrance. As he passed back out through the curtain he distantly heard Marty murmuring into his mic that they were going to take 5.

“Leaving already? They’ve still got another 20 minutes!” The hostess called. Barry tripped; he hadn’t expected her to still be there, and was thankful he hadn’t used his speed in front of her by accident. 

“Uh, yeah, I have to be getting home!” He shot her a flustered smile as he pushed through the door.

“Wait, your coat!” She called, but Barry didn’t have time to go back. He needed to have this panic attack stat. He would come back and get the coat another time -- or just buy a new one, he had a job and it wasn’t like he was paying rent. 

It might be a quiet neighborhood, but it was still a Friday night and plenty of people were out on the street. Barry pivoted and headed toward the alley that ran alongside Blue Rondo. He needed to get out of sight before he Flashed away.

So, of course, just as he rounded the corner the side door to the club clanged open and out burst Leonard Snart. The only reassuring part about it was that he looked as shocked to see Barry as Barry did to see him. Barry spun right back around and started striding away, but -- 

“Wait!” Leonard called, and despite his better instincts Barry stopped. “ _Please_. Do I know you?”

The exhaustion in Leonard’s voice shook Barry. It was the same exhaustion he’d been dogged by since he rebooted the timeline. He swallowed, then offered, “I’ve been to the club every week for a month. You’ve probably just seen me in the crowd.”

It was quiet for a moment, then there was the sound of gravel against pavement -- of Leonard moving closer. “I never used to dream, but lately...” He trailed off, as though self-conscious of how he sounded. 

“Of course when I wake up the details are all gone. All I’m left with is this feeling that I’ve forgotten something vital,” Leonard said. After a beat he added, resignedly, “Not even going to look at me, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” Barry replied, clenching his fists, “But you don’t know me.” Technically it wasn’t a lie in this timeline.

“I do,” Leonard whispered. 

Barry had to leave before this became something bigger, before he lost control of the tenuous sense of belonging he’d managed to attain in this new world. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the mouth of the alley, trusting that this less impetuous version of Leonard Snart wouldn’t give chase. The echo of his footsteps was almost enough to drown out the strangled curse and the sound of a palm slapping against brick. 

\-------

For the rest of the weekend Barry barely left the house because he was too busy wallowing in his guilt and remorse (with just a touch of paranoia). Whenever he closed his eyes he remembered the beguiled look on Leonard’s face as he sang, as though the man was compelled to share the troubling deja vu he didn’t fully understand. If Barry turned off the TV or the radio he could hear the weak hope in Leonard’s voice when he’d asked him if they knew each other, and the wretchedness when he realized Barry was going to run. 

Barry had been so busy feeling bad for himself that he hadn’t stopped to wonder how much harder it would be to remember the previous timeline without actually retaining any memories from it. All the feelings of disjointedness he’d been struggling with at least made sense to him -- he was trying to fit into a reality that he had never really been a part of, and to reconcile the new personalities and histories of those around him with what he remembered from his previous life. How much worse must it be to have that same background anxiety and have no clue as to its origin?

Even worse than that thought was the question that plagued Barry throughout his work day on Monday: Exactly how many people were experiencing what Leonard was? Maybe it was just him, but that seemed unlikely given that he and Barry hadn’t been particularly close and that Captain Cold wasn’t a meta-human. Cisco having memories, that would make sense (and there was that additional pain of remembering a friend he no longer had), but Snart? He was just a human. 

So maybe it was everyone. But that thought was too horrible and too huge for Barry to contemplate, so he turned to what he thought was the most likely answer -- that the phantom memories were limited just to those individuals whose lives had directly intertwined with Barry’s. If that was the case it still meant a significant number of people were at the very least losing sleep, and at most fearing they were losing their minds. 

As he trudged up the front walk to his house after work Barry thought (not for the first time) that maybe he should listen to Eobard Thawne. Not listen in the sense of obey, but listen in the sense that every time he went to drop off food the villainous speedster ranted and raved about mistakes and paradoxes and Barry dooming them all, and maybe next time Barry should actually focus on what Thawne was shouting. 

Barry was shutting the front door when his mom dashed in from the family room and shoved him on the shoulder.

“Wha--?! Mom?” He rubbed at his shoulder and shot her a look he hoped conveyed an appropriate amount of betrayal.

“Barry!” She was grinning, so apparently it hadn’t been an angry shove.

“You’re late,” his dad called, poking his head around the corner. “I’ve been keeping the chili warm -- go set the table.”

He moved to do as his father had asked, but once again his mom was standing in his path. She looked like she was fixing to shove him again. 

“Mom, what is going on?” he laughed incredulously and shook his head. (Not everything about this new timeline was so bad.)

“You’re seeing someone!” She answered, settling for a playful swat at Barry’s chest before turning toward the dining room.

Wait, what?

“Wait, what? No, Mom--”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s fine. We’re not mad you didn’t tell us,” his mom said.

“Speak for yourself,” Henry said as he carried the cast iron stew pot in from the kitchen. He set it down on the trivet with a grunt, then added, with a twinkle in his eye, “Personally I’m furious.” 

Nora coaxed Barry into his usual seat and started ladling him a bowl of chili. “Seriously Barr’, I get it. You’re not a kid anymore, and I know you feel like your father’s friendship with Captain Mendez influenced you being hired--”

“Which it didn’t,” his dad interjected seamlessly.

“--and you’ve never lived away from home,” Nora finished. Had he really never lived away from home? He knew that in this timeline he’d gone to Central City U., but surely he’d lived in the dorms at least one year.

“Uh, what does all that have to do with hiding the fact that I’m dating? Even though I’m not?” Barry asked.

“Well,” Nora served herself a bowl and sat down opposite Barry, “You probably feel like you don’t get a lot of things that are just yours. So it’s understandable you might hide this from us.”

For a second she managed to school her face into something serious and understanding. Henry leaned over to Barry and stage-whispered, “Look at how serene your mother is, Barry. She’s playing this very cool.”

“Hank!” She pouted, reaching over to steal some of her husband’s cornbread as an act of vengeance. “I’m just so _relieved_ \-- I mean!” She shot Barry a worried look, “Not relieved because I didn’t think you would find someone, of course that was bound to happen. You’re smart and charming and--”

“--And your mother loves you so much!” His dad finished impishly. Barry huffed a laugh. This whole dinner was weird, but at least the food was great and plentiful. He’d been having issues staying full; no more Nutrient Bars a la Cisco.

“I meant relieved because the whole thing with your friend from elementary school was-- well-- it was just a little weird, sweetie,” his mom said tentatively. His dad was suspiciously quiet as he dug into his own bowl of chili. So he agreed. 

“‘Weird’?” Barry asked, a small pit in his stomach. 

“You haven’t talked to her since you were eleven, probably hadn’t even seen her since your high school graduation. Then suddenly you were fawning over her and memorizing her schedule? I just...” His mom trailed off, and Henry reached over to take her hand where it rested on the table and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think we all know you’ve been in kind of a funk for the last month or so, Slugger,” his dad said. “You millennials are so advanced you’re all having your mid-life crises in your twenties,” he joked. “Your mom and I are just glad that it seems like you’ve been happier, like you’re getting out there and hanging out with people your age.”

“Actually he was older,” his mom said.

Barry’s head whipped to look at her. “‘He’? Who are you talking about?” He’d assumed his Mom was just mistaking his later-than-usual return home for some sort of clandestine meet-up. 

His mom rolled her eyes and stood, then walked back out toward the mud room. “The gentleman you’ve been seeing. He brought your coat to the house.” She came back into view, and sure enough was holding Barry’s black peacoat. His jaw went slack.

“Snar-- I mean-- _Leonard_ came here?!” He pushed his chair back, not sure what he meant to do.

“Yes, he said you left it at a club and he wanted to bring it by since there’s supposed to be a cold snap in the middle of the week,” his mom said. 

Henry nodded approvingly, a solemn look on his face. “Thoughtful _and_ mature. I’m glad you’ve found yourself a seven-day forecast type of man, son.”

“No, this is all a big misunderstanding. He just plays at that club, we don’t even know--” Barry shoved his hands into his hair, “Aren’t you concerned about the fact that he tracked down where I live? I didn’t give him my address!”

“Honey,” his mom said, with a head tilt and a look on her face like he was the one being silly. “He probably got it from the tag on the coat.”

Barry stared at her blankly. “The tag?”

“You kept losing coats, so you asked if I could sew a tag into this one with our address.” His mom was looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“This is the third time someone’s brought it back,” his dad added. “Say, this isn’t how you’re meeting all your dates, is it?”

“Three-- three times?! How many coats before this one did I--?! No, you know what, I don’t want to know.” He slumped in his chair. What kind of loser has to ask his mom to sew his address into his coat, and then still misplaces it three times? Probably the same one who lives at home, has no friends and little-to-no dating history, and who works at a job that was apparently gotten through nepotism (at least it answered the question of why exactly Barry was still working for the CCPD even though his mom had survived).

He looked at his parents’ worried faces. So loving, so concerned. Just like they’d been for this Barry’s whole life. He was their beautiful boy, their slugger. Their coddled only child who had apparently been content to let them shepherd him through all of life’s difficulties.

He stood abruptly, grabbing up his bowl and spoon. “You know what? Uh, you’re right. Leonard and I are... Leonard and I. And I’m going to go see him now. Which I can do, since we’re all being honest and you know about him. I’ll call if it looks like I’m going to be too late.” 

He started walking toward the kitchen, but his mom called, “Barr’ you don’t have to do that yourself, just leave it on the table; I’ll clear everything off.”

Barry squeezed his eyes shut, glad his mom couldn’t see the expression on his face. It wasn’t her he was disgusted with. “I can wash one dish, Mom.”

He did so, then grabbed his coat off the chair back his mom had draped it on and headed for the front door. Before he left he spun around and said, “Thanks for dinner, it was great. It’s always great, which I don’t say enough. Maybe I can make something this weekend?”

His mom and dad shared an amused look, then his dad nodded and said, “Sounds like a plan.”

\-------

Barry ended up at Blue Rondo even though it was Monday, which meant the quartet wasn’t scheduled to play. He’d just had to get out of the other Barry’s strangely stifling existence. He supposed since he was here he would ask to leave a note for Leonard thanking him for returning the coat and politely asking him to never drop by his parents’ house ever again.

The poster in the display case just to the left of the club’s entrance drew his eye. It advertised that evening’s intermediate swing class -- $25, or $15 with a receipt from the beginner class. Barry’s only experience with dance was the barre class he had attended once with Iris. It was a punishing hour-and-a-half that he wasn’t eager to revisit. 

“She’s a good teacher,” Leonard said from the mouth of the alley (Barry mostly contained his startled jump at the other man’s voice, but couldn’t hold in a small yelp). “Could probably even show you a thing or two, and you’re one quick stepper.” 

Barry crossed his arms. “Are you following me?”

“You wish; just having a smoke.”

Barry looked pointedly at Leonard’s empty hands. “Doesn’t smell like you’ve been smoking.”

A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of Leonard’s mouth, and after a moment of apparent deliberation he pulled down the collar of his sweater to reveal a small nicotine patch stuck beneath his right collarbone. 

“The cigarettes I don’t need, but you’ll have to pry the frequent, 5-10 minute breaks from my cold, dead hands.” 

Barry laughed in spite of himself as Leonard visibly struggled to keep a straight face. 

“What are you even doing here, if not keeping tabs on me?” Barry asked.

“I’m backing up the swing band for the class,” Leonard answered. He leaned one shoulder up against the wall and looked at Barry consideringly. “I’m Len Snart, by the way. But you already knew that.”

“Yeah,” Barry said, trying not to look like a speedster who’d abused his powers and played irresponsibly with the timeline. “From coming to your shows.”

“Right. From coming to my shows.” Leonard -- Len -- looked unconvinced.

“I’m Barry,” Barry offered weakly, then remembering the events at dinner, straightened up and said with a touch more confidence, “Barry Allen. But you already knew _that_.”

Len at least had the decency to look like he knew he’d overstepped a boundary. “Yes. From your coat.”

“From my coat.” 

The silence stretched. Len shifted so that his back was against the wall, both palms flat on the brick. He drummed his fingers. Then -- “Your mom seems nice.”

“Don’t,” Barry said warningly, and Len mimed zipping his mouth shut. Barry laughed and shook his head. “You are such a nerd. I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool.”

Len pushed away from the wall, “Well that’s why they put the drummers in the back. To keep up the illusion. So are we taking this swing class or what?”

“Wait, huh?!” Barry spun on his heel as Len walked around him to pass into the club, nearly tripping as he tried to follow the older man. “I thought you said you were playing with the band!”

“Eh, there’s two or three other guys here tonight who could do it who probably need the hour’s pay more than me,” Len said. “Wait here a second.”

Len brushed easily through the curtain to the club, leaving Barry standing in the lobby, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Just when he’d made up his mind to flee, Len poked his head back out and said, “You used to swing dance in middle school. You’re a bit rusty, but looking to pick it back up.”

“What?”

Len passed through the curtain and a petite woman whose 6-inch heels only managed to emphasize her shortness followed behind him. She shot Barry a narrow, suspicious look.

“You weren’t in any of my beginner classes recently,” she said.

“Uh, right. I-- I used to dance in middle school? Swing dance, I mean. I’ve got all the, you know, the fundamentals. Just need to get back into the uh-- _swing_ of things?” He shot her a look that he hoped was the equivalent of a nudge in the side. She looked thoroughly unmoved, but behind her Len was grinning from ear to ear. 

She whipped around and pointed a finger at Len’s chest. “You’re a liar and generally a scoundrel. It’ll be on you to catch him up on anything he doesn’t know.” Then she swept back through the curtain and Len moved forward to grab Barry’s hand and tug him into the club. 

“Great pun, Barry,” he grinned. The club looked different with all the lights on -- not sketchy or anything, just bigger. It helped that all of the chairs and tables had been pushed to the side to make room for a portable dance floor. 

“Hey, the walls are red,” Barry said. “Nice-- _whoah!_ ”

Len had stopped and turned abruptly, pulling on their joined hands (he was holding hands with Leonard Snart!) so that Barry stumbled forward the few steps between them and had to brace himself on Len’s chest. Len grinned down at him and murmured, “I’ll lead to start, then we can switch once you pick up the rhythm.”

Barry realized abruptly that the floor was already full of other couples who were swaying slowly to the piped-in music, or studiously going through practiced steps. Probably from the beginner class. Which Barry had never taken.

“Wait, this is going to be a disaster!” Barry hissed, but Len was already gripping Barry’s wrist to ease his right hand slightly further up to rest on his shoulder, and lifting their clasped hands on the other side.

“Calm down. I’m a great dancer,” he said.

The instructor went _'Hmph!'_ as she walked by, and as Len slowly spun him and Barry into a simple box step he amended, “I’m an adequate dancer. But what I lack in technical knowledge I make up for in not actually caring whether or not I’m doing it right.”

Barry grinned. “So we’re both going to look like fools?”

“Like a couple of real dummies,” Len agreed, squeezing Barry’s hand. Barry ducked his head as his heart stuttered in his chest. An hour ago he would’ve called the idea of dancing with Leonard Snart insane. But now he was sure it was the most adventurous thing he’d ever done in this timeline, and in this reality Leonard wasn’t even a criminal! Just a handsome man Barry had a crush on.

Barry had a crush on Leonard Snart. This was going to be a disaster.

\-------

“You know what?” Barry laughed breathlessly as they stumbled out of the side door. “That wasn’t a disaster.”

“I told you!” Len was smiling so hard his eyes were crinkled. His lips and cheeks were already turning red in the cold night air. He and Barry were still holding hands. “I’m a _great_ dancer!”

They continued giggling as they headed for the sidewalk in front of the club, but before they could step into the light from the street lamp Len paused. Barry turned back questioningly, and in answer Len drew him close and pressed their mouths together. Barry’s hands came up to clutch at the older man’s lapels as their chapped lips pressed and rubbed together. He’d just worked up the courage to swipe his tongue over Len’s bottom lip when the man drew back, smirking. He raised one hand and cupped the side of Barry’s face.

“I want to apologize for before,” he said. “For last night.”

Barry blinked rapidly (Iris used to call that his ‘Confused Bambi’ look), then said, “It’s fine. It was rude of me to just walk away when you were trying to talk.”

Len scoffed. “A man you didn’t know was raving at you about how you’d definitely met before. I’m not sure what came over me, I’ve just had that song in my head lately, and you have this look sometimes...”

He trailed off, then sang, quietly:

_"The smile that you’re smiling you were smiling then.”_

Len shook his head. “That’s no excuse for me acting so strange. You’re probably right that I’d just seen you in the crowd before.”

Barry swallowed, and for a second he considered telling him everything.

“You wanna grab some dinner?” He asked instead.

Len nodded and leaned in again to press his lips to Barry’s. “I know just the place.”

It turned out to be a family-style Italian place, which was perfect because neither Barry nor Len was capable of choosing moderation over the desire to try everything that looked good. They ordered way too much food, and it was dark enough (and they were distracted enough by the conversation) that Barry was able to eat to fullness for the first time since reseting the timeline.

Len was just as clever and adroit as he’d ever been, but he lacked the defenses of the Leonard Snart Barry had known. His smirk was softer, his gaze less cutting. They talked about his music and Barry’s science, about Len’s crappy apartment and Barry’s frustration at still living with his parents. Barry asked about siblings, feeling like he had an unfair advantage with his knowledge of the other Len’s life, but was surprised when Len wavered his hand.

“Sort of? I mean, yes. I have a half-sister, but we aren’t really close,” He said. “Not to dump all my baggage on you on the first date, but basically... my mom died when I was 5, my dad was distant, but not abusive, when I was 8 he went to jail and I lived with my Grandpa for a couple of years, then my dad came back and _was_ abusive, but luckily he quickly went back to jail for a second, longer sentence, except he was killed in a riot a couple of months later.”

“Geez,” Barry breathed, not sure how to feel. On the one hand it was still a tumultuous childhood, on the other hand he couldn’t help but be glad that Lewis hadn’t had as much contact with Len and Lisa in this timeline. 

“Yeah,” Len said, taking a sip of water. “Anyway, Grandpa got permanent custody of me, but he passed away when I was 19. Lisa -- that’s my sister -- saw his obituary and reached out to me through her foster parents. I guess my dad had struck up a relationship with a woman during his first prison sentence, and she had Lisa just before he went back in. Lisa’s nine years younger than me, and--” He shrugged. “I mean she was a 10-year-old whose mother had drunk herself to death and who had never known her father, but she was in a surprisingly supportive foster home, and she was doing really well.”

Barry nodded. “Foster care and social workers get a bad rap, but there are success stories,” he said, leaving off that he’d been one of them. He reached over to hold Len’s hand where it rested on the table.

“We met soon after she contacted me, and of course I talked extensively with her foster parents, but none of us thought that living with me was the right option for her. We exchange birthday gifts and try to get together at least once a year. She’s very funny. Athletic, too. She actually went to the olympics for ice skating.”

“That’s amazing,” Barry said. “You can tell me if I’m overstepping, but it kind of seems like you’d like to be in her life more?”

Len smiled sadly. “I would. But she has a family, fully functional and everything. Her foster parents’ son passed away, and they decided to take in a child to fill the void and to turn their loss into something positive. They formally adopted Lisa when she was 13. She even has a younger sister, Caitlin, who she is ridiculously proud of.” 

Barry smiled and said, “You know there’s no limit on how many people you can have in your life. Just because she has a younger sister doesn’t mean she might not also have time for a big brother.”

“Maybe,” Len conceded, reaching around Barry’s arm to grab a lemon cookie off of a plate by his elbow. “Ordering three desserts was the right decision.”

\-------

Their second date was Len coming over to Barry’s house to have dinner with his parents. A small part of him felt kind of lame, but he assuaged that part with the knowledge that a) he was cooking dinner for everybody himself instead of leaving it to his parents, b) Len had already met his mom, and c) this was very on-brand for Nu!Timeline Barry.

Everybody hit it off, Barry and his dad teased his mom ruthlessly for her semi-obvious crush on Len, and Len even managed to teach his dad something about jazz. Henry had been insistent that he wasn’t cool or smart enough to get improvisational music, but Len had flipped through his record collection and managed to show him how some of his favorites had jazz elements. He played ‘Paint it Black,’ then looked up YouTube videos of bootlegs of the Stones performing the song in their European and Pacific tours, showing Henry how even rock bands changed up their songs when performing live.

Barry and his mom watched from the doorway to the dining room. She nudged his side and said, “I knew you were dating.”

“Mom,” he rolled his eyes. “I told you this is only our second real date.”

“Well, I like him. Your dad does, too,” She said. That was a surprise, since Barry’d learned that apparently his dad always found a reason to dislike the people he dated in this timeline.

“Oh yeah? How do you figure?” In the family room Len was showing his dad how he could make a playlist of videos on YouTube. It was sort of adorable. “He knows Len is only like four years younger than him, right?”

“Let’s sit on that information for a while,” his mom said. “While we were clearing the plates he leaned over and whispered ‘Home office,’ which I can only assume is his plan for your room once you move out.”

Barry made a show of pouting, but one morning two months later Len mentioned off-handedly while they tucked into brunch (shrimp and grits, cooked by Len, served in bed) that the lease was up on his place and the landlord was raising his rent again. He didn’t seem too phased by it, said he’d gotten used to the itinerant musician lifestyle, and showed Barry a couple of listings he’d clipped from the Picture News. 

“These are all in Keystone,” Barry said, leafing through the scraps.

“Yeah, I guess this neighborhood’s getting trendy, which is why I’m getting priced out. But I know a guy over there, Mickey, he got me out of some trouble when I was a kid. Now we’re sort of weird pen pals? Anyway in his last email he mentioned how cheap his rent was and that I should just look in his area.”

“But...” Barry trailed off. Len already lived in what was geographically one of the furthest neighborhoods from his parents’ house. If he crossed the river Barry was going to be stuck on the bus longer than he actually got to spend with Len. He frowned at the thought because he could just run, of course. For some reason the idea of using his speed had completely slipped his mind. Lately he’d been driving into the City Center with his dad each morning, and after work he either met up with Len somewhere or took the trolley over to Blue Rondo. 

Barry sat back against the pillows, a little dazed. He’d barely used his speed in weeks, now that he thought about it.

“You OK?” Len asked. “Listen I know Keystone’s not ideal, but we’ll make it work, right?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Barry said. “Or...”

Len quirked an eyebrow. “Or?”

“Well, I have a lot saved up, and. This is crazy, sorry, we’ve barely been dating two months--”

“--two month and two weeks, technically, but who’s counting?” Len interrupted. He seemed... excited?

“Wait, for real?” Barry asked, a small smile tugging on his face. “Do you wanna move in together?”

Len wrapped one arm around Barry’s shoulder and pulled him into his chest so that his head was tucked under the older man’s chin. It was warm, and the blanket thrown over their laps was fuzzy, and for a second Barry had this image in his head...

“Do you own a parka?” He asked.

“Sure,” Len said, clearly thrown by the topic change. “Well s’more of a coat than a parka, but it’s got a hood on it. Green felt, with those little wooden toggles on the front.”

“Huh.” Barry frowned. “I could’ve sworn I’d seen a blue parka around here somewhere.” 

“Sure you weren’t just lost in my eyes?” Len teased, and Barry laughed and shook his head. No matter what timeline, Len loved his corny jokes.

The next day, at work, Barry realized with a startled gasp that he hadn’t been to see Eobard in nearly a week. He dashed out (actually used his speed) to get food and bring it to the other man, who looked so gaunt and weak that Barry felt a pang of guilt and panic.

“You’re beginning to forget,” Eobard growled, chewing resentfully at a burger.

“What are you talking about?” Barry asked.

“This--” Eobard gestured with the sandwich-- “Is corrupting your memories. It’s cementing, Barry, and soon as far you’re concerned it’ll be the only timeline that’s ever existed. You need to take us back, we have to set things right.”

“This _is_ what’s right, remember?” Barry snarled. “That other timeline, that was because of what _you_ did.”

“Oh, is this ‘right’?” Eobard asked. “So you’re with Iris West? Happy as can be?”

“Iris... West?” Barry asked. “My friend when I was a kid? What’s any of this got to do with her?”

“Oh no,” Eobard actually dropped his burger on the ground. “Oh no no no no no are you serious?! Allen, just when I think you can’t bungle something up even worse, you manage to surprise me! Iris West is who you’re supposed to be with, who you’re supposed to _marry_!”

Barry grasped at his head as a fierce headache came on suddenly. He saw glimpses of Iris, not as he knew her -- a childhood friend -- but as an adult, a family member. Smiling and laughing, working at Jitters, helping move Barry in to college, kissing him on the coastline as a tidal wave approached the city. But the more he tried to grasp at those images the harder they were to remember. He shook his head.

“You’re right...” he whispered. “I’m forgetting the other timeline.” There was only one thing to do. He ripped the lock off of the cage he’d been holding Eobard in, and the other man grinned gleefully.

“This is good, Allen, you’re making the right choice, your mother has to die--”

His sentence faded as Barry rushed them out of the warehouse, past the docks, beyond the city limits. He ran and ran until finally they were surrounded by trees -- somewhere in the middle of the Northwest Territories. Barry dropped Eobard on the ground, and the other man winced and rolled over onto his stomach to retch.

“I might not remember everything,” Barry said. “But I remember that you’re cruel. That you’re a killer. That you don’t really deserve a second chance. Luckily for you I’m not a killer. Unluckily for you, I also remember that you don’t have your speed.”

Eobard laughed, and attempted to dart forward, but stuttered and fell, red lightning sparking around his body, then disappearing.

“Yeaahhh, about that,” Barry said. “I’ve been telling you that your cell was dampening your powers all the time we’ve been here. But actually you lost your powers running back in time that night to kill me. I know that from growing up in the other timeline, where you had to let a tachyon device slowly rebuild your speed over ten years.”

Eobard groaned and pounded the ground with one fist.

“By the way, you better believe I’m going to be keeping an eye on any laboratory that has the technology to manipulate tachyon particles. I’ve taken all your future tech, your Gideon, your ring. I can’t take away your genius, but I can leave you out here in the middle of nowhere. I trust that you’ll survive.”

“Allen, be reasonable,” Eobard stretched out a hand, “Don’t do this. You can still have everything you ever wanted!”

“I already do,” Barry said. “Bye, Eobard. See you never.”

He sped back to Central, but nearly collapsed on the outskirts of the city from glycemic shock. It had been so long since he’d run, and he’d just pushed his powers into overdrive. With his remaining strength he rushed into Len’s apartment and started tearing through all the food in the fridge and cupboards. And if his boyfriend hadn’t been a jazz musician who mostly worked nights he would’ve gotten away with it, too. 

Unfortunately it was 3 in the afternoon, and two bites into his second ham, pickle and peanut butter sandwich, he turned to see his boyfriend, slack-jawed and standing in the middle of the kitchen. 

“OK. This looks bad,” Barry said.

“You... You’re a meta-human... But the Flash is black?” Len looked shellshocked. His legs actually buckled as he tried to take a step back, so Barry zipped foreword and pulled a chair up behind him. 

“I can explain,” Barry said, crouching down in front of Len and resting his hands on his knees.

He started with the simple stuff -- that he also had speed powers, that he used to be the Flash. Then he eased into the hard stuff -- that he wasn’t from another world, he was from this world, an alternate timeline. That he’d used his powers to change things. That he’d done it to save his own mother and fix his own life, and in doing so had changed the lives of countless other people he’d interacted with. Len looked more devastated than disbelieving -- after all, this timeline had had its own version of an encounter with Earth-2, and with meta-human weirdness. 

“You lied to me,” Len whispered, finally. Barry had, about many things, but he knew what Len meant.

“Yes,” he replied somberly. “We had met before that night. In the other timeline, we... we knew each other. Sort of.”

“Do I want to know?” Len asked, eyes steely. “Do I want to know how I knew the Flash?”

Barry swallowed. “It wasn’t all bad.”

Len stood up shakily and walked into the bedroom. Soon he emerged with a spiral-bound notebook (Barry recognized it as one of the ones he used to jot down compositions and practice theory in) and a pen.

“Write it all down,” He said. Barry shot him a confused look, but before he could ask Len explained, “You just told me that when you tried to think about your friend Iris you forgot what you had left of her. So don’t think, just write. Use your speed, write it all down, before it’s gone.”

So Barry did. He took Len’s advice, writing at speed and not letting himself focus too long on any one memory, just letting them wash over him, from the first encounter with the Blackhawk truck all the way to ‘Merry Christmas, Barry.’”

He finished and set the pen down, then handed it to Len who flipped it closed and tossed it down on the table.

“Aren’t you gonna...?” Barry asked, confused.

“Nope,” Len said. “Not now, anyway. We have more important things to discuss.”

“Like breaking up?” Barry twisted his hands in his lap.

“No, like what neighborhood we should start house hunting in,” Len said. Barry’s head snapped up and Len sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m so mad at you right now, Barry. For making me feel like I was crazy. I can’t believe that you’ve been lying to me, or that up until three months ago the entire life I’ve known didn’t even exist. But I’m also heartbroken thinking about you going through all of this alone.”

He slumped into the chair next to Barry’s, and reached over to grab one of Barry’s hands.

“Nora and Henry are good people. I don’t like thinking about a world where you grew up without them, even if it was one where you still ended up with a supportive family. And the thought of you going up against the kinds of enemies that the Flash fights makes me want to not let you leave the house without a protective bubble.” 

Barry chuckled at that, wetly. Of course he was crying. “I’m so sorry, Len. _I’m sorry_.”

“I know,” Len murmured, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over Barry’s knuckles. “And you’re going to make it up to me, I’m sure. First, by not listening to that insane murderer who wants you to reset the timeline again. Good call abandoning him in the woods, by the way. Second, by helping me find a great place for us to live. Third, by taking up the trumpet because you _vibrate_ do you know how easy embouchure will be for you? And Marty’s been bugging me to get a trumpet player to pick up on nights when Clara’s not free.”

Barry shook his head disbelievingly and leaned over to rest against Len’s shoulder. Len stroked his hand through Barry’s hair, and just as he started to drift off he heard Len ask, “What do we think about New Brighton?”

\-------

They found a nice place -- the ground floor of a two-family home in New Brighton that was owned by the elderly couple who lived upstairs. Henry and Marty came over to help Len soundproof the second bedroom to use as a practice space, and Barry and his mom painted the main room then dragged the furniture in from the truck. 

The five of them ordered (and ate) Chinese food from three different places within delivery range because Marty insisted that they needed to have a comprehensive ranking of egg rolls in the area in case of an emergency. 

A couple of weeks later, once they were all settled, Barry and Len were sitting facing each other in the front window’s bench seat, Len with eyes closed, headphones on, and Barry with a thriller novel. Barry glanced up and smiled at how Len’s hands, which rested palms-up on his folded legs, twitched and jumped periodically as though he was playing along. Movement in his peripheral vision caused Barry to startle, but it was just a couple of kids from down the street running down the sidewalk in neon-colored reflective jackets. Len poked Barry with one sock-clad toe.

“You gonna’ talk to Iris tomorrow?” He asked, pulling his headphones off of one ear.

“Yeah,” Barry nodded, trying not to let his nerves show. “I’ve been going over and over what I want to say. This is too important to mess up.”

Len smiled and leaned forward to kiss the back of Barry’s hand where it was still holding his book. “You’ll be great,” he murmured.

The next day as Iris waited for her coffee at Jitters Barry approached her and cleared his throat.

“Uh, hi. You probably don’t remember me, but--”

“Barry! From elementary school! Of course I remember you, I still think about those amazing grilled cheese sandwiches your mom used to make us,” Iris said, grinning and playfully swatting at his shoulder. “Look how tall you got!”

“Hah, yeah,” Barry grinned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Listen, I hate to ambush you like this, but I was wondering if we could talk. Um, about your dad?”

The change in Iris' expression happened so fast it would’ve been comical in any other situation. Her open, friendly smile quickly dropped into a thin, suspicious line.

“What’d he do now?” She asked, turning away for a moment to grab her drink when the barista called her name. She indicated a table in the far corner with a jerk of her head, and Barry followed her.

“You know I work with him?” Barry asked.

“You’re wearing your badge, slick,” Iris said, perching on the stool.

“Oh, right,” Barry fumbled for a second with the I.D. clipped to his sweater. “Listen, I’m not here to get Joe-- Detective West in trouble. I don’t know exactly what happened, he and I aren’t-- we aren’t close.” Barry swallowed. This was harder than he thought it would be. “You know those grilled cheese sandwiches you mentioned?” He asked, suddenly getting an idea.

“Yeeaaahh,” Iris said. She looked distinctly unimpressed thus far.

“OK, well, Joe didn’t make us grilled cheese sandwiches, but he picked us up in his cruiser, and he took us to the park, and he would let me wear his hat while he taught me how to throw a punch. I’m not-- I’m not trying to pretend like I know anything about your dad now, or your relationship with him. But I know he was a good dad, and a good man when we were kids. I know he was a good detective when I first started as an intern in the forensics lab.”

Iris’ expression became a little bit softer, and she slumped back into her seat. “You aren’t wrong,” she said. “I’m just not sure what you think you can do about it.”

“Well,” Barry took a deep breath. This was either going to go great or he was going to get a punch on the nose. “I’ve been covering for your dad at work for some time now. You know, giving the Captain excuses when he’s not around. Maybe instead I should report him.”

“What?!” Iris sat bolt upright. “You want to get him fired?!”

“No! This is all to prevent that from happening,” Barry said, his hands up in a placating gesture. “The CCPD has a procedure for reporting a colleague for-- for suspected substance abuse. I would have to complete a report for the Captain and Internal Affairs, Joe would be interviewed, chances are they might even reach out to you and to your brother to enter something into the record. If they come to the conclusion that he can’t continue working, then they’ll put him on paid administrative leave while he starts a Twelve-Step Program.”

Iris frowned. “It’s that easy?”

“Well... no. Joe will have to admit that his alcoholism is keeping him from completing his duties. If he’s ever come into work while intoxicated, or if he ever drank while on duty, he’ll have to come clean about that, too. That would go in his personnel file. Depending on the level of his impairment and whether he committed any procedural errors or endangered any fellow officers or civilians then IA could recommend that he be fired. Even if they don’t, he’ll still have to relinquish his badge and agree to demonstrate reasonable progress with the program as a condition for returning to work.”

“What if he doesn’t want to own up to it?” Iris asked. “Say he gets angry and defensive and just quits?”

Barry frowned. “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

Iris sighed and swirled her coffee around in the cup. She took a deep draught, then said, “Anything is possible, but I don’t think so. Dad loves and believes in his work too much to give it up, even if right now he’s letting the alcohol come first.”

She stood up and shouldered her bag, holding her phone out to Barry. “Gimme your number. I’m going to talk about this with Wally -- with my brother -- and if we think it’s a good idea then we’ll be in touch. Honestly I wrote dad off a long time ago, but Wal’ still brings up the idea of an intervention. This may be the best shot.” She shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work then at least we will have tried.”

“Great!” Barry scrambled to key in his number. “Don’t hesitate to contact me, day or night,” he said.

“Mmhmm. Remind me again why you’re even getting involved?” Iris took her phone back from him. The words were direct, but her tone wasn’t harsh.

“Because...” Barry pushed his hands back through his hair, “Call it a hunch, but I know that this isn’t where Joe’s meant to be. That he can come back from this.”

He must have sold it because Iris nodded once, then turned and left. 

\-------

When he got out from being briefed by Captain Mendez that I.A. was launching an investigation, Joe punched Barry so hard he saw stars before passing out.

\-------

“Remind me again why we decided to host Thanksgiving?” Len asked as he literally ran from the front door to the kitchen, arms laden with grocery bags.

“Because we never had that apartment-warming we said we were going to, and I’ve been mooching off of my parents for 27 years, and your story about you and the other musicians eating bar peanuts and pickled eggs in between sets on Thanksgiving last year was the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Barry called, voice getting drowned out by pots and pans clanging.

Barry shook his head with a small grin and poked his head around the corner into the kitchen. “The turkey is in the oven; the casseroles are all pre-made and we’ll just have to pop them in to warm up a half-hour before guests arrive; Mickey’s bringing those good rolls from the bakery in Keystone; Mom and Dad are bringing the pies. Please relax.”

“We forgot the cranberry sauce!” Len hissed, vigorously shaking the cranberries in a strainer beneath the faucet.

“Yeah, and then we remembered with 4 hours to spare,” Barry laughed, coming up behind Len and wrapping his arms around his midsection. “Dinner is going to be great. And if it’s terrible, we’ll order Yenchim Garden and everyone will still have a good time. Especially Lisa.”

Len took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “This is my chance to prove to her we should meet up more than once a year. I just don’t want it to be awkward.” 

“Has Nora Allen ever let a social situation be awkward?” Barry asked. “Besides, Marty will be there, and he’s a born charmer. And Iris said she’d stop by later.”

“Iris is coming?” Len perked up. When he’d realized that Barry’s Iris West was the same Iris West who was his favorite columnist from the Central City Picture News Len had gotten so obviously nonchalant in his questions about her that Barry eventually felt bad and suggested that Len should meet her. Since she and Barry (and even Wally) had become closer while working together to get Joe the help he needed, it hadn’t seemed weird to invite Len along for lunch one day at Big Belly Burger. Naturally Iris and Len had hit it off -- they had the same razor-sharp wit and deadly smirk. 

“Not ‘till around pie time,” Barry said, grabbing an orange and beginning to zest. “I guess she, Wally and Joe usually have their Thanksgiving meal in the early afternoon, and she said Wally might have to work for a couple hours after that.”

“Isn’t he a student? How cruel are his professors that they’re assigning him work to complete on a holiday?”

“Hmm, good point. Well, being extra studious never hurt anyone,” Barry laughed. 

After a beat of silence, Len asked, carefully, “How’s Detective West doing?” Things had been rocky at first, but eventually Iris and Wally had appealed to the parent in Joe and convinced him that entering this program was the only way they were going to be a family again. Iris had even (temporarily) moved back in with him to be a sober buddy. Apparently she’d been spending most nights at her brother’s apartment anyway. 

Barry shrugged. “As good as can be expected, I think. Iris hasn’t told me all the details of what they went through, but I know it had something to do with her mom’s disappearance and reappearance and... certain revelations about how Wally was treated those years when he was alone with Francine.”

Len frowned, no doubt thinking of Lewis. “That can be hard on a guardian. Grandpa Snart felt guilty until the day he died that he didn’t find a way to keep me from going back to my father after his first stint in Iron Heights.”

Barry leaned his weight into Len’s so that their arms brushed together as they worked. In short order the cranberry sauce was made, wrapped up, and stowed in the fridge to cool. Barry and Len scrambled around the apartment cleaning things up and setting up the extra leaf in the kitchen table. 

An hour before guests were set to show up Len came clattering in from the bedroom, pulling on his coat.

 _'Green looks so nice on him,’_ Barry thought. “Making your escape?” he asked aloud.

“Need to go get some more folding chairs,” Len said, looking harried, “Lisa’s bringing her sister and I just realized if Iris is coming she might be bringing Wally, too.”

“Wait, babe, where are we going to store two _more_ folding chairs? The four we got barely fit in our closet. If Lisa’s bringing her sister then we’ll drag the piano bench up to the table and you and I can sit on that.”

Len scrubbed his hands over his face, “Barry, can you just let me make a decision without questioning it for once?”

Barry frowned and tossed the magazine he’d been paging through back into the artful fan he’d created on the coffee table.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms. Len stood in the entryway, fists clenched by his sides, but finally slumped, pulled off his coat and tossed it on the rack.

“She’s bringing her sister. She thinks she needs a safety net. An excuse to leave or someone to talk to if things are stilted,” Len sighed.

“Maybe,” Barry said. “Or maybe she wants her brother and her sister to meet. What if all these years that she’s been telling you stories about her, she’s _also_ been telling her about you?”

Len rolled his eyes good-naturedly, probably because he knew Barry was trying to cheer him up (even though he snapped at him). He clearly still thought Barry was full of shit. 

Except ninety minutes later the door bell rang, Lisa and her sister were waiting with bottles of gold-foil-topped champagne and cider clutched in their hands, and Caitlin almost knocked Len over trying to hug him. Barry was too busy avoiding getting hit in the head with a bottle for an ‘I-told-you-so’. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting! I used to have such a crush on you, Lisa had this wallet-sized photo she used to show off, and you’re a musician! So cool! I’ve actually been thinking of doing a study with some of my patients to see how music training can supplement a traditional care plan, and I would love to pick your brain about it. What a great color for a family room!”

Lisa leaned in to Barry and a stupefied Len as Caitlin tottered off toward the kitchen and snarked, “I convinced her to pregame. Just a little! Cait’s a doll, but she can be sort of stiff at parties.”

Barry laughed and held out a hand. “Lisa Snow, nice to meet you-- _Owww_ wow, that’s quite a grip you’ve got there!”

“Thanks. Consider this a veiled threat about what could happen if you don’t treat my older brother right. Lenny,” she turned and offered her arm to Len, “Give me the grand tour?”

Barry grinned at his mom as the brother and sister walked off together. He recognized Lisa’s bravado as her attempt to cope with the same insecurities Len had been struggling with all day. His mom wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“This is a really nice home that the two of you have made together, you know? Even if you haven’t had a six-month anniversary yet,” she teased. 

“Yeah, well,” Barry hip-checked her, “I recall you and Dad having something to do with our decision to move in together so soon.”

“What can I say?” His mom asked. “You two seemed like peas in a pod when you’d barely met. Watching you boys together during that first dinner at the house I really felt like there was history.”

She laughed self-consciously at how silly she sounded, and Barry tried to join in convincingly. The other timeline was only the barest presence in his mind anymore, but even if he didn’t have the memories he’d never forget that his life almost hadn’t been this life.

Marty arrived a few minutes later, and before long it was clear that their first Thanksgiving dinner in the apartment was going to be a huge success. Even though Henry totally tried to backseat carve when Len was piecing up the turkey. Mickey ( _'Call me Mick, I haven’t gone by Mickey since I was a damn kid but Lenny won’t call me anythin’ else’_ ) brought an extra sweet potato casserole along with the fabled rolls. Frankly it was so delicious Barry was ready to throw out his mom’s recipe. (After she went home.)

Everybody ate way too much and talked too loudly, and when Barry suggested they go around the table to say something they were thankful for he got literal boos and giggles in response. Somebody (Len or Marty -- or Lisa?) actually threw a small piece of stuffing at him. He laughed and made a show of throwing up his hands in defeat. “Fine! I’m a sap! Everybody mock the sensitive guy!”

A small voice on his right whispered, “I’m grateful my parents decided to winter in Aspen so that Lis’ and I could come.”

That led to the conversation where Barry and Caitlin discovered they were nerdy soulmates. They discussed their jobs in pediatrics and forensic science, their various degrees, the research they wished they could be doing. Now that she’d settled her stomach with food Caitlin was much more focused and serious, talking with increasing complexity about her scientific passions. There was something about talking with her that Barry found weirdly comforting? Something nudged on his subconscious, but he shushed it. 

It was nearly 8 o’clock by the time the doorbell rang again, and even though they’d been groaning at their full stomachs an hour earlier, now everybody groaned with relief that they could finally eat some pie. Henry and Nora got up to serve while Barry went to answer the door, only to find Iris, Wally and--

“Joe! I mean, Detective West!”

“Hi, Barry!” Iris smiled, only a touch of strain in her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind we brought the whole gang!”

“Definitely not, come on in!” Barry stood aside to let them troop in and toe off their boots. “You can hand me your jackets, I’ll just go set them in the bedroom.”

Barry mouthed a silent _'OH MY GOD’_ at Len as he passed him with the coats, and his boyfriend attempted (not very successfully, the nerd) to turn his laugh into a cough. Barry tossed the jackets on the pile on the bed, and as he made his way back to the family room he heard his dad exclaim and the sound of rushed footsteps. He turned the corner and smiled softly at the sight of his dad and Joe doing one of those manly hugs with lots of backslapping and self-conscious laughter.

“Long time, Henry,” Joe was saying as he drew back. “My fault.”

“Hey, it happens,” Henry said, “You move out, and it’s harder than you expect to keep up with everyone from the old neighborhood.”

“Joe,” Nora said, coming forward to clasp one of his hands between both of hers, “It’s very good to see you. Henry and I were so surprised when Barry mentioned that he and Iris had struck back up their friendship.”

“Yeahhh,” Joe drawled, turning a weather eye to Barry. “He tell you I punched him in the face last month?”

“Oh, we saw,” Henry said. “You clocked him real good.”

It was awkward for a beat, then Joe cleared his voice and said, “Well, I’m sorry, kid,” to Barry, then to Nora and Henry, “To both of you, too. I brought a bourbon pecan pie as a lame attempt at an apology. Oh, uh, sans bourbon of course.” 

“Grandma Esther’s pecan pie?!” Barry exclaimed, surging forward to get a closer look. Joe laughed in surprise, and narrowed his eyes.

“How on earth do you know this is my mother’s recipe?” He asked. Barry blinked a couple of times -- he wasn’t actually sure.

“Dad,” Wally said, grabbing the pie out of his hands and giving it to Barry. “He and Iris used to be friends, he probably had it when they were kids.”

“Thanks, Wal’,” Barry said distractedly, still not exactly sure where that esoteric bit of information had come from, “I guess that’s why I can never remember where I left my phone -- my head’s full of random details from when I was 8 and all the lyrics to all the tracks from ‘Licensed to Ill’.”

Len scoffed, “Beastie Boys, please. More like all the words to whatever NSYNC’s debut album was.”

“It was self-titled.” “Just NSYNC.”

Barry and Iris laughed at their simultaneous answers, and Len, Wally and Joe all shook their heads. 

“Great conversation, gang!” Marty called from the table, where he was already sitting with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. “But I believe I was lured here with the promise of a slice of pie?”

\-------

Barry swallowed and smoothed his sweaty palms down the front of his suit jacket one more time.

“You can do this, Allen,” He mumbled.

The door to the office he was sitting in front of opened, and the receptionist motioned to Barry that he should head inside.

Almost three hours later Barry stumbled out, generally pleased with how he’d fared during the interview. He’d done enough research online to expect the panel of interviewers and the theoretical questions meant to test his problem-solving skills, but the giant digital board with equations he had to solve as fast as he could while everybody watched and silently judged?

Len chuckled as Barry recounted the supremely unimpressed look on Tess Wells’ face when he’d finally turned back from showing his work. 

“It’s S.T.A.R. Labs, babe. What did you expect?” Len curled one arm up to rest on the pillow beneath his head. 

“Honestly? For them to take one look at my resume and laugh me right back out the door. Everything else was just cake.” Barry rolled over and buried his face in Len’s chest, snuggling his nose in close and smiling as his boyfriend’s other arm wrapped around him.

“They wouldn’t have invited you for an interview if they hadn’t seen potential,” Len murmured into Barry’s hair.

“I know,” Barry said. He lifted his head to prop his chin on Len’s collarbone. “They know I’m not a physicist, so hopefully they won’t hold my performance on the practicals against me. And even if I don’t get a call-back, the chance to work on this new S.T.A.R. Labs/Ramon Industries meta-human research team is too good to pass up. Did I tell you Cisco Ramon was there? And that he laughed at my Star Trek reference?”

“Yes, dear,” Len said teasingly. They laid there in silence for a few minutes, and Barry thought about how lucky he was to have this man to come home to. Eventually Len shifted, and Barry could tell he had something he wasn’t sure if he should say.

“Mickey thinks Ramon Industries works with the Flash.” Len was looking anywhere but at Barry. “Any chance that influenced your decision to apply?”

Barry hummed thoughtfully. He had quite a few theories about the Flash, how his powers worked, how he operated. Not that he was going to mention it to Len, but one Friday while the quartet was performing he, Mick and Lisa had had a long conversation about private industry in the city supporting the Flash during the period that the Anti-Flash Task Force had been operating at the CCPD. Thankfully the Task Force had been officially suspended just before Christmas, partially in response to the Flash saving Central City from a giant typhoon.

“The police and the Flash aren’t working together yet, but at some point we’re going to need civilians and officers partnering with meta-humans to study how their powers work. I could be a bridge between private labs and the CCPD -- an advocate for understanding the meta-humans who attack the city.” Barry sat up, straddling Len. “They aren’t all criminals. Some are just trying to get their powers under control. Some feel like they don’t have the option to blend in anymore.”

“Right,” Len said, hands coming to rest on Barry’s waist. “I have no doubt you’ll be a good advocate for them. But you’re telling me this has nothing to do with wanting to get closer to the Flash?”

Barry frowned, not sure what Len’s angle was here. “Is this a jealousy thing? That joke I made on Thanksgiving about being thankful that the Flash wore leather was just me being silly. Well, mostly. I mean he’s got a nice body, and he wears leather, which we can all appreciate, and I’m digging myself deeper here please stop me.”

Len lifted a hand to cup the side of his face, and looked searchingly into his eyes. “You’re serious,” he murmured.

“Well... yeah,” Barry said, somewhat lamely. “You were the one who told me that if I wasn’t satisfied at the CCPD then I should find something more fulfilling. I think this could be it for me.” He leaned his face into Len’s hand, loving as he always did the feel of the calluses built up from years of drumming. “Why are you still frowning?” he asked.

“Am I?” Len made an effort to smooth out his features. He grinned and pinched lightly at Barry’s cheek. “You’re happy, right? No regrets?”

“None,” Barry said confidently. “Unless I’ve forgotten an anniversary or something?” 

Len shook his head as he leaned up on his elbows. Barry caught his boyfriend’s hint, and dipped down to press their lips lightly together.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! :D


End file.
